Poisoned
by El loopy
Summary: [Cruel Prince]. Jude accidentally overdoses on her nightly poison. Cardan is the only one around to help her... Set after the ending of the book. Slight Jude x Cardan. Oneshot.


Poisoned

She had taken too much. She knew she'd taken too much. The sickness roiled in her stomach, her head light and piercing with pain. She'd gotten tired. She'd miscalculated. Of all the stupid things to do. She could have laughed if she wasn't groaning. The master spy, the mortal King Maker, so careful that no one should find her vulnerable and exploit her mortality, that she'd slept only a few hours a night. So watchful, so wary, so used to being afraid that she'd grown tired, lost her focus, and poisoned herself. Idiot.

"Jude?"

The voice was familiar. It sent a shudder down her skin, already clammy from the poison. She needed to throw up. She wanted to pass out. She gripped her knife harder. If anyone attacked her now she was picked clean of her defences. She needed to keep hold of the knife…A retch tore her body, her throat and she found carpet under her palm, the other fisted against her middle. Fallen. She couldn't stay on the floor.

"What is this?"

The voice sounded like it should have a sneer. Jude lifted her head from her chest and up at the Faerie. Cardan looked down on her, the sneer that had been absent in his voice was clearly on his lips. An old, half-remembered defiance gave her the strength to rise from her curled inward crouch. It was important that she was on her feet, not trembling underneath his.

By the time she was able to lift her head again, his attention was no longer on her but on her desk, on the parade of poisons in vials. Jude shifted her weight so the bedpost supported her but could not force her arm away from cradling her stomach protectively.

"What do you want, Cardan?" Her lips felt dry. Her voice cracked. He still wasn't looking at her.

"You've poisoned yourself," he stated in a voice that sounded so scornful she wished she could stand straight enough to punch him. "I didn't think I was that terrible."

That almost made her laugh, but the next wave of pain hit at the same instant. A hand touched her shoulder. She tried to shrug it off. Looked for the knife but couldn't see it. Had she even had one?

"What did you take?"

"Too much." That wasn't what he meant. She didn't care. Jude shook her head dismissively. "It'll pass," she gritted out through the pain. "I just took too much."

The hand moved, replaced with an arm, steadying.

"You've done this before." It wasn't a question, so she didn't answer. "Have I told you how hideous you look?"

She nearly laughed again but knew it would hurt.

Something soft hit the back of her knees and she sat abruptly. He'd manoeuvred her onto her bed. She wished she were enough herself to take advantage of that, or stop it happening at all. The mattress sunk as he settled beside her.

"Cardan," she warned although it came out in a hiss of pain and she couldn't help but clench her eyes shut. He could _not_ be on her bed with her. Another wave of retching overcame her, her insides feeling like they were crawling out. Shuddering she found herself curled up on her side on the bed with no idea when she'd done so.

"Cardan." She loathed it, she loathed herself, but she needed him. He wasn't next to her anymore, but she knew he was still in the room. He wouldn't have left her without a parting jibe about her mortality and stupidity.

"Cardan, I need – you to help me – sit up."

Everything about her was trembling.

"Aren't you going to command me?"

She couldn't raise her head to search for the disembodied voice. She couldn't think straight enough to force out the words. If he wanted to kill her and be rid of the nuisance she'd caused, the oath he'd sworn, her knife was just on the desk, next to the poisons. Or it was on the floor where she'd dropped it?

Hands gripped her shoulders and wrenched her upright, causing her stomach to finally expel its contents and her thoughts to spin out into the rafters.

"This is disgusting." He _sounded_ disgusted. She wished she could reply with _"What did you expect from a mortal,"_ or something cutting about his parties being worse. Instead she only managed, "Agreed." Acid burned her throat, the muscles in her midriff protesting painfully.

"I didn't think it was possible to miss your insolent replies," he told her, and she realised she was against the headboard, supported by pillows. Cardan had ripped the soiled top cover off the bed and let it heap on the floor. She wondered how long he'd been speaking for; how long she'd passed out for.

"Sorry to disappoint," came her sarcastic reply, the weakness in her voice taking out any sting she'd intended. "Normal service will resume shortly."

She managed to look at him properly as he stood by the bed next to her, her eyes open but dulled. He really did look annoyed. His clothes were rumpled and stained in spots with something she imagined had once been inside her. His hair was unkempt. She couldn't work out the look in his eyes.

"You must be feeling better," he retorted. "Hurry it up. It smells of mortal rot."

"You don't have to stay," she managed as she ran a mental diagnostic over her body. Pain, sickness, dizziness factors. She was on the way down. "Whilst you must enjoy watching my suffering, you could just hand me my knife and go."

"This knife?" The blade pressed flat to the flesh of her throat, the cool metal a brand on her fevered skin.

"That's the one," she managed through cracked lips. Her eyes sought his and held them. There was no fear in her, not for this. He'd said he was no killer.

"If word gets out you're like this you will be assassinated in your bed, and you're not being released so soon into this game you started." The knife slipped from her skin and she felt the handle press to her palm. She curled her fingers around it. "I cannot leave. I locked the doors," and if he unlocked them to leave she was too unwell to reseal them. His foresight surprised her but then maybe it shouldn't. He'd been playing this game before she'd been born.

His concern for her she thought might just be a hallucination.

"There will be talk, you spending so long in my chambers."

There was a challenge in her tone despite her position. An arrogant smirk stretched over his lips.

"There already is, but then they all know how much we despised each other."

His use of the past tense didn't escape her limited notice.

"Tell me," she whispered, a mockery on her tongue. "Do you desire me now?"

He recoiled in the jerk of his head, the widening of his eyes. It took him a beat to respond.

"Would that make me more disgusting or less?"

His response sent her own skin crawling and she dropped his gaze.

"That's not an answer," but he'd already moved away from the bed and she did not have the strength to pursue it. Her gaze tracked him back to her desk as he picked up and turned over each poison.

"Is your mortality such cheap currency that you would squander it so carelessly?"

"It _is_ cheap, in comparison to your eternity," she manged to reply, "so I must make it of more value."

She watched him pluck the vial of Faerie fruit and twist it in his fingers. His eyes flicked to hers and their gazes locked over it. He dropped his first, placing the vial back with a clink of glass on wood. She called it a victory, even if the burning shame made it actually a defeat.

Cardan said nothing further and she told herself that she was glad. She fell asleep again, exhaustion dragging her under and the next time she awoke, he was gone.


End file.
